Stop and Stare
by JacqLeighton88
Summary: Her eyes tended to wander, and mostly fell on beautiful things; on beautiful women especially and it pisses you off to no end.


You would be the first one to admit that it wasn't ideal.

The way your relationship _started _– sort of – was not something you'll retell your grandchildren with great pride and twinkling eyes.

X

You met her at a fundraising event for your boss' latest gubernatorial campaign. You weren't supposed to be there since you were in-charge of Sylvester's string of campaign ads; but a last-minute shuffle sent you there. You were kinda known as an extensive user of all things social media for your clients' advantage – so you decided to just enjoy the night and use one of your many gifts – your strong observation skills.

You made your way across the room with effortless ease, as if you've done it all before. You tried to feel off the crowd, listened in – perhaps get a point or two that you can use for your next brainstorming session with the rest of the team.

You were on your third glass of champagne when you felt that intense stare boring a hole to the side of your face.

You gracefully turned to your side and with all the subtlety you could muster, your eyes scanned that side of the room for the source of that passionate gaze.

Your breath hitched the moment you looked at the most beautiful set of eyes you've had the pleasure of seeing.

Your heart thumped, and your pulse quickened as you both stared deeper into each other's soul.

X

She was the first one to break your staring contest.

You continued to watch.

You watched as she fidgeted, absentmindedly allowing her companion to whisper something in her ear.

You watched as she rolled her eyes and grabbed that pale hand before muttering something back.

You didn't miss the way her gorgeous companion discretely turned to your direction and glared at you.

X

It didn't take long for you to find out who she was.

Or rather, who they were.

She was a prized lawyer from New York's most elite firm. Her family name was something very common, so you didn't think much about it.

Perhaps you should have, since it would have been the first clue to her identity.

X

She apparently came from a long line of lawyers. Her great-grandfather owned Ohio's most successful law firm. When he passed away, his only son took the reins, until the latter suffered a stroke.

The family firm's leadership was now in the hands of Alexander Lopez III.

But instead of his daughter working for him, the young lawyer decided to carve her own career and signed up for New York's most influential firm.

X

Santana Lopez came from money – the main reason she was there tonight.

But if Santana Lopez came from money, her companion came from even _more _money.

Quinn Fabray was a Senator's niece. She was a socialite and the newest face of Gucci.

She was also engaged to Santana Lopez.

XXX

* * *

It was the lawyer who pursued you.

She became a fixture in Sylvester's campaign headquarters following the fundraising, with the word from the grapevine that said she was brought in as the campaign's legal consultant, albeit in secret.

You played hard-to-get.

You had to.

Not only was she engaged.

Santana's eyes tended to wander, and mostly fell on beautiful things; on beautiful _women _especially.

You've witnessed that _that _night when you were looking at her.

You didn't want to _that _woman.

You don't think you'll be able to forgive yourself if you became _that _woman.

x

Santana asked you out for coffee, lunch or dinner – all under the guise of work.

But you knew better.

You weren't stupid. You've seen the way she looked at you.

Like _really _looked at you.

Like you're the last drop of water in the midst of California's drought.

X

You kept the newspaper clipping of the Lopez-Fabray engagement announcement near your calendar as you unconsciously counted off the days 'til the 'wedding of the year'.

(You totally rolled your eyes while saying that in your head. The fact that one half of the couple had been eyeing someone else made you snicker at how 'solid' that marriage would be.)

But you kept it.

You kept the clipping to serve as a reminder that you _can't._

That you can _never_ say yes.

You needed to be reminded because every time she was near, you wanted to give in.

You wanted so much to give in and get lost in those eyes.

"Brit –"

"Santana, no, okay? I'm not joining you for coffee or dinner or sushi or whatever."

"But –"

"No. No, no, no, no."

"You won't even let me –"

"I don't need to _let _you do or say anything. I'm here to work. I'm not here to be your dirty, little fling before you tie the knot with your _princess _bride. I don't want people talking behind my back and I certainly don't need you anywhere near me. So for the last time, _no._"

You left her in the hallway, never bothering to throw her a fleeting glance.

XXX

* * *

Santana stopped.

You felt both relieved and heartbroken as the day of the nuptials neared.

You tried your darnest best not to think about it, as you buried yourself to work.

The work saved you from thinking about Santana, sure.

You had, instead, a couple of brief affairs, but always knew how many months, weeks and days until the big social wedding. The clipping was still there.

You often stared at the picture of that blonde woman.

Perfect Quinn, in her simple but elegant linen dress and her double strand of real pearls.

You were confused at your bitterness.

X

Santana was set to marry in another three weeks when the whole campaign had another shake up.

Sylvester brought in new people, and fired half a dozen staffers.

Santana was also out as consultant and she was replaced by her close aid – Kitty Wilde.

You tried to calm your panicked and broken heart at the thought of _why _she left.

X

You didn't hear anything about her in the next weeks and you resigned yourself to the fact that she was already married.

It was pretty fucking pathetic how affected you were since you two were never _anything._

You were never anything, yet you were shattered.

She felt like your everything.

X

You got home one day and saw your calendar.

You cried when you saw those X's and realized the black date of her wedding was ten days ago.

XXX

* * *

Sylvester was overwhelmingly reelected.

You found yourself surrounded by the rest of the staffers who became your great friends in the course of the campaign.

You were drunk and were having the time of your life as the group partied.

Sylvester earlier called you personally to her home and presented you with a bonus check huge enough for you not to worry about working your ass off for the next year or two.

It was _that _huge.

Overall, you felt fucking fantastic.

X

You weren't feeling so fantastic three hours later when you were puking your guts out in one of the bathroom stalls in the club that Sylvester rented out for the night.

Your head found purchase at the end of the bowl when you felt a soft hand rubbing your back.

You tried to move, but the next onslaught of bile stopped you from doing so and once again, you were making those hurling sounds.

Only this time, the same soft hands were there to hold your hair.

You didn't know how long you stayed in your spot. You couldn't know for sure, even if you tried.

The next thing you felt were strong arms that lifted you from the stall and aided you towards the bathroom sink.

"I –"

"It's alright Brit, let's just get you cleaned up and off you go."

You froze.

Your mind was working slower than ever, and your body and senses sure were working even slower than your mind, but you _knew _that voice.

You were broken out of your trance when you felt gentle fingers got in contact with your face.

The cool water was enough to give to you a tiny semblance of reality. You tried to open your eyes and you looked into the mirror.

Another gasp left your mouth.

"Santana?"

XXX

* * *

It was five weeks later, and you were now in Maui, enjoying a much-needed break.

It had been five weeks and still you could not take your mind off that very minute detail.

The fingers that touched your face that night at the bar were bare.

They were bare.

X

You were flying back home in two days so you intended to make the most of your remaining days in the island.

You found yourself sitting by the shore, your camera securely hung on your neck as you watched the waves.

Watching them brought you something more than serenity.

X

You were ready to say you weren't interested when you felt someone sat near you.

You never seemed to be left alone in the course of your stay in the island, with men and women constantly hitting on you. On your second day here, you would automatically blurt out your practiced _"sorry-not-interested" _line just to ward them off.

You came here for some peace and quiet, not _that._

So yeah. You were ready to tell off the latest one who seemed to want to try when you felt the hairs at the back of your neck rose, followed shortly by the thumping of your heart.

You felt nauseous.

You only ever felt like that whenever...

"Fancy seeing you here." Your newest companion rasped out, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"Santana Lopez."

X

You didn't talk.

The two of you didn't utter one word after that quick exchange.

X

She finally cleared her throat, and asked you if you'd want to grab brunch.

You looked at her questioningly, a challenging brow rose in silent query.

She chuckled.

She was alone, she said.

Your raised brow didn't let up.

She nervously played with the hem of her thin shirt covering her bikini-clad body. You admit it was uncharacteristic of her, considering she was _the _Santana Lopez.

_The _Santana Lopez who made criminal defendants cry with her vicious, vicious words.

_This _Santana Lopez fidgeted under your gaze.

You thought it was cute.

Uncharacteristic of her, but cute nonetheless.

"I'm not married." She blurted out.

She sighed before she continued.

X

She broke off the engagement a week after the fundraising gala.

They were having problems shortly after getting engaged.

You listened as she explained.

You actually listened for the first time.

You found out that theirs was never the fairytale love story the press dubbed and insisted in those society pages.

They were college sweethearts.

On and off.

They met in Yale where Santana completed her undergraduate course as well as her law degree. Perfect Quinn was there for drama school.

They got engaged at the insistence of both their families. Alexander Lopez III adored Quinn.

It was Alexander Lopez III who bought the ring.

Because despite all the money they have, they don't have the kind of cache that the Fabrays have. His child marrying into the Fabray family would give them a kind of visibility, a kind of social status that Alexander Lopez III was very hungry for.

The Fabrays wanted Santana since they believed she would be a very potent weapon within the family business – politics.

It was a marriage of utmost convenience, to say the least and you didn't miss the way her eyes darkened at the revelation.

X

You were still wary.

This was someone who broke off an engagement with someone she admitted she adored. More so, this was someone who was _looking _at someone else while still engaged to be married.

Not exactly comforting, aye?

She saw the worry in your eyes, and she sighed for what seemed like the millionth time since you've talked to her.

She said she understood your hesitation, but would not apologize for _looking _at you that night.

She certainly won't apologize for trying to get you to go on dates with her.

You asked her why it took her seven months to tell you all these things.

X

She understood, she said.

She understood the implications of her breaking off the engagement. Perfect Quinn still won't talk to her, and apparently ran off to rebound-marry some artist-painter out of spite.

The Fabrays were livid, and blamed it all on the lawyer. The wedding bills were all paid for and out of malevolence, they demanded that Santana reimbursed them, in full – along with the huge payout for the press people to shut them up and not mention a single damn thing about the broken engagement to save face. Members of society's upper crust talked, of course. But there was nothing else the families could do.

Worst of all, Alexander Lopez III made it clear that he was not forgiving his daughter for the mess she created anytime soon.

That was why it took her seven months to gather up the courage to talk to you again, she conceded.

She thought you made the right call, saying _no _all those times.

She didn't want you bring you into the mess and that what was exactly going to happen had you said yes.

X

"Don't be too cocky though, hon. I didn't break off the engagement because I fell in lust with you." Santana mumbled as she tried to make light of the situation. "I knew I was making the biggest mistake of my life. The fact that I felt something for someone else, with my fiancée right beside me was very telling don't you think?"

You were annoyed by her words, but you could not agree more.

X

"I'm going to pursue you. Furiously." Santana said seriously, yet you see the mischievous glint in her eyes.

It was both thrilling and scary at the same time.

You didn't stop yourself from finally smiling for the first time though.

X

"No seriously. I'm going to seduce you with my vicious words."

You gulped.

"Then I'm going to seduce you with my awkwardness. So be ready, Miss Brittany Susan Pierce."

X

You watched her this time.

You watched as she walked away.

Walked away with a tender request for you to meet her at Makena for lunch in an hour.

You knew you were going to be there.

XXX

* * *

She came through with her promise.

She did seduce you.

A little, with her vicious, vicious words.

Mostly with her awkwardness.

Because for everything that had been said about the no-malarkey-lawyer, Santana didn't have much game.

She wasn't a smooth talker. And most of her pick-up lines sounded so much like cross-examinations.

X

It was cool though.

It was the way she looked at you.

Like she didn't know whether the world was spinning or stopping because you were right next to her.

It was the way she looked at you _and_ made you feel.

Like a billion bucks.

Like you're _the _most beautiful thing to have walked the earth.

X

You dated low-key in the next six months before you became official and exclusive.

You had been promoted as Sylvester's media advisor, and you were now directly employed as a staffer – under her Chief Strategist, Tamara Moore. Santana would come up to Albany on official business, mostly under the Governor's summons.

But you mostly kept your relationship under wraps.

Or rather, you didn't flaunt it.

If your colleagues knew, they didn't act like they did. It was one of the advantages of being in this line of work. Everybody had something else more important to do or fix and personal relationships were rarely talked about.

X

On second thought, your colleagues would have known.

They would have to.

Santana wasn't exactly _unknown _and despite how hard you two try to be low-key, someone would have seen you two together, _so_...

X

Santana introduced you to her family a year later.

You felt the animosity when you held out your hand to Alexander Lopez III. He looked at you curtly, before looking down and excusing himself.

He was trying, but he still hasn't forgiven Santana completely – that much was evident.

Santana's mom gave you a big hug though.

You smiled because you felt she was genuinely glad to have finally met you.

X

Santana wasn't awkward around your family.

She was, as a matter of fact, very comfortable around your parents and baby sister.

You beamed when she whispered, _"I love it here"._

X

Two years after officially agreeing to be her girlfriend, you bought an apartment together.

X

You fought a lot.

Like, a lot. A lotta, lot.

There were the big blow ups, and there were the little things.

X

You made the mistake, in retrospect, of asking her input about the latest ad you made at Sylvester's insistence. The governor had to address a powerful critic's taunt, and she was insistent that it be done through the area of social media, ergo, your domain.

Santana thought your idea was stupid.

She thought, the overall idea of using social media to get answer back was stupid, and she said it in a matter-of-fact tone that irritated you.

"What do _you _know about social media? You don't even have one. You don't even remember your passwords." You goaded, albeit weakly. "Do you even know how to use a computer? Your secretary even does that for you!"

You were tired, and your boss wouldn't sign off your seventeenth draft in the last four days and you really just needed, _badly _needed Santana to back you up on this.

"What you showed me was petty and it would make Sylvester look petty and small and insecure. Everybody will be better off if you just ignore Brown. He's petty and stupid and you stooping down to his level would only make you guys look bad."

"You don't understand –"

"Honey, come on." Santana laughed. "Advise Sylvester to just drop it. Forget it. Reelection's in a little over a year. Save your money, your effort and your time. It's not something to lose sleep ove – "

"You don't get it! You know nothing about how these things work. I do!"

Santana tensed from her spot on the living room and you watched as she slowly stood up and made her way towards you.

"Is that so." Santana muttered under her breath as she neared you. She stopped when she was a mere few inches from you, and you felt the heat coming from her body. "Let's try that one again, this time, with jabbing fingers for added emphasis." Santana lifted her right index finger as she began to imitate you. _"You don't get it! __You know nothing about how these things work." _Santana jabbed her finger at you, before mockingly repeating the act, this time she was jabbing at her own chest._ "__I do!"_

"You're a jerk."

"Nice one. A zinger. High and tight." Santana smirked. "I can deduce from the irritated sigh that's about to come out from your chest to your mouth that you are really angry. You are really angry, because you know I'm right. You're frustrated, because you're damn tired and you never really wanted my opinion. You wanted me to lie, and coddle you and make you feel better."

"San –"

"Uh-uh." Santana wagged her annoying index finger, this time near your face. "You're hungry too, because you have been working on that thing for days and you haven't eaten lunch _and _dinner. So yes, I'm gonna let this one go. Go shower because you smell. Then we'll eat."

"You're a jerk."

"Now that one just lost its zing, honey." Your girlfriend chuckled. "I had been called worse. I eat threats for breakfast, you know that. You would have to up your ante if you want to wind me up."

"I hate you."

"You know I'm right, honey. You can feel it, deep in your heart." Santana teased. "It's funny, isn't it? The big regrets in life, people try to keep to themselves."

"I don't know. I tell people about you." You bit back.

"Woah. You're getting better at this. That one actually slightly hurt. Ouch."

"I hate you."

"I love you too, honey."

XXX

* * *

Mercedes quietly sipped her wine as she patiently waited for you to talk.

It was one of the many things you loved about the woman.

She never pushed.

Never judged.

She was just there.

Ready to listen.

Ready whenever you were.

Mercedes was someone you considered to be your ultimate, most trusted friend. She was Santana's too.

In fact, Mercedes would be the sole _real _common friend that you shared with Santana.

The singer-songwriter had been a fixture during political campaigns. She wrote and sang Nathaniel Fabray's campaign songs and that was how she befriended Santana. Mercedes did the same thing for Sylvester and the two of you worked together for the governor's killer theme songs.

So while you and Santana have mutual acquaintances and friends, Mercedes would trump them all any day.

She loved you and Santana to bits.

"Santana called you yet?" You asked, despite knowing the answer already. Yet Mercedes still offered you her trademark _duh-girl _grin and you couldn't help but smile.

It had been a standing agreement between you and Santana that no matter how angry you were with each other, no one would storm out of your home, except if it was for Mercedes' place.

Whenever you were mad at your girlfriend and could not stand to be in the same room with her, you slept here.

And so did Santana.

"What was it this time?" Mercedes beamed\knowingly. "Who was she looking at now?"

You were positive that Santana had already filled her in and she was just humoring you.

You decided to bite as the alcohol had started to make its effect felt.

You always had a problem with Santana's leering.

Of course, Santana would passionately debate you about it, and always took offense whenever you called her out on it.

Santana insisted she wasn't checking anyone else and was only appreciating certain facets of other people's bodies or personalities.

You couldn't see the difference.

It was the source of your many petty fights, but you talked about it.

You talked and you thought you were making great progress.

Until you cleaned Santana's home office and found that horrific 8x10 photo of _that _Leslie Tane – _the _Leslie Tane stacked among the clutter of papers in that damn box.

"She had a freaking _naked _8x10 of a porn star, Cedes! Tell me how _you_ would feel about that!"

"What did Santana say?"

"Nothing much." You huffed. "She said she didn't know how, or why it was _still _with her."

You trembled in anger, the dirty image of that woman still etched at the back of your head.

You would need a thousand bleach to remove _that _thing from your mind.

That, and you really, really, were tempted to bleach Santana's eyes too.

That was how livid you were.

"I was there all those years ago, I must admit." Mercedes cleared her throat before she set her glass on the table to fully focus her attention on you.

Mercedes relayed that Santana and her were out one night for dinner over four years ago when the porn star came to their table out of nowhere and nonchalantly handed Santana the signed nude photo of herself.

The porn star turned out to be in the area for a _convention _(you had to roll your eyes at the use of that word, really) and as soon as she saw the popular lawyer, she bolted from her seat to give her _crush _something to remember her by.

You listened to Mercedes as she narrated the story.

But you wanted to know _why _– why Santana still had it with her.

"What did she say again?" Mercedes prodded.

So you told her what you remembered about Santana's rambling answers.

"She said she didn't even know it was still with her." You shared.

Mercedes looked at you expectantly.

"You wanted me to actually believe _that?" _You asked in mortification.

"Why not?" Mercedes shrugged. "It's Santana." The diva answered simply. "I've known Santana way before you two got together. She has a mouth on her, that's for certain." Mercedes laughed good-naturedly. "But her biggest difficulty in life is lying."

You were silent.

Santana could be a bitch and she was usually a royal pain in the ass, but she was honest, indeed. And while most people found it hard to tell the truth, Santana was the opposite. She enjoyed telling people off, usually without so much regard for their feelings.

It was hard for her not to tell the truth.

Once, you tended to her blackened eye one night because a prospective client punched the daylights out of her after Santana riled the woman up, pointed her indiscretions and told her bluntly to get her cheating, lying ugly ass out of her office.

Her girlfriend got in trouble for telling the truth – mostly too bluntly and offensively.

"She wasn't in love with _her _Brit." Mercedes blurted out and you didn't have to ask for any clarification about what the hell she was talking about.

You knew exactly who she was talking about.

"She wasn't in love with Quinn but she had a hard time breaking the engagement off. Santana didn't want to hurt her, she _was _one of her best friends." Mercedes sighed. "She certainly didn't want to hurt their families. It wasn't an easy ride for her."

"Cedes –"

"No, please, just allow me to say this once and for all?"

You looked down.

Played with the hem of your shirt.

Then you nodded weakly.

"Okay."

"She didn't leave her for one fleeting moment of attraction. She would never do that thing you're scared of, Brit."

"I wasn't..." You trailed on, the denial caught in your throat.

"From my perch, and believe me I have a pretty great view from up here," Mercedes beamed, "your insecurities? They're coming from that. _That _Santana had the courage to let something huge – like an engagement – to let it go for some sort of 'energy exchange'. That's just plain wrong, homegirl."

"I-I'm not –"

"She's so in love with you. Anybody can see that."

"I love her so much. I'm just scared I guess." You whispered, finally admitting something you've been denying for years.

"Don't be scared. I mean, it's alright to be scared, but you ain't be needin' that. When Santana Lopez says she loves you, you better believe that damn woman because she tells no lies. Woman can't be diplomatic to save her life."

"But the leering, Cedes..." You whispered, and hoped that she got your incomplete thought.

Mercedes smiled kindly. "Santana spent an entire lunch break one time looking at that Jimmy Choo shoes. Your girlfriend _loves _to look at beautiful things."

"And women."

"Sure. But you're the one she wanted to make lady babies with. Not anyone else. So worry not. Snix will never stray, trust me girl."

You laughed.

Mercedes always knew how to make you feel a million times better no matter what.

XXX

* * *

You were working on your next template when Sylvester breezed past you, tapped your desk and pulled the next available chair next to you.

"I dreamed that I sent you and Lopez to Senator Anderson's son's art exhibit last night. You two tag-teamed in insulting the senator's son's paintings and I _also _dreamed the senator called me up, chewed my ear off, and threatened not to vet me for the post she would be leaving in five years – if _my _people don't offer her son an apology." Sylvester said with a smile and you could do nothing else but gulp.

"You're going to wake me up from my dream now, won't you, Pierce?"

X

That was how you found yourself outside Blaine Anderson's gallery, with Santana right beside you.

You both didn't want to do this.

But Sylvester called Santana and threatened to have you removed from her staff if you didn't apologize to Anderson.

You didn't want to.

You didn't have to.

You could find another job and Sylvester knew that.

There were people lining up for you.

But Sylvester's final gubernatorial reelection bid was underway and it would be the toughest campaign you'll ever find yourself a part of.

You wanted that thrill.

You can smell the blood bath now.

And Santana knew that.

Santana knew how excited you were and she wanted to be a part of it too.

So that was why you were both here.

X

Senator Pamela Anderson seemed oblivious to everything but her son.

How she loved her son.

She found every reason to tap him, to pat him, to stroke his cheek or ruffle his hair. And the son accepted the adoration as if it was his due. He wasn't just a prince to his mother, no, he was a deity.

The guy's dad wanted him to join the family's real estate business, but with Pamela's help, Blaine had resisted, gone to art school and became a painter.

Sylvester had been asked by Pamela to gather people to attend his son's exhibit last night. Sylvester raffled her staff's names and drew ten, with the specific mandate to bring a plus one, at the very least.

The senator wanted to make sure that people saw that many people went to her son's showcase.

There had been a strong resistance on Santana's part when you told her about the _task._

Your girlfriend hated Blaine's guts.

You did too, and you had more encounters with the dude since you went to the same college; but it was Sylvester's direct order, _so..._

After a series of jabs and bribes, Santana finally relented.

X

Everything was cool until the forty-fifth minute of the exhibit.

To be honest, the paintings weren't thrilling – they were average at best.

You and Santana knew your fine art, modesty aside, and you both felt offended.

The nudes that were the highlighted seemed, somehow, too glossy, too obvious, and rather _louche._

They were more Penthouse than Art News and Santana was having a hard time hiding her distaste.

Your job was simple.

Go to the exhibit for an hour, then leave.

You had fifteen minutes left last night and everything would have been done and dusted.

Except Blaine Anderson saw you and decided to rehash the past.

The past, which included his college crush not giving him the time of the day because the dude was way too busy going after you to even notice that Blaine Anderson existed.

Painter dude held grudges alright.

It would have been fine, until Blaine made the mistake of insinuating that you whored yourself out for grades and that was when hell broke loose.

Santana smirked before she went into a tirade of verbal attacks – about his hair, his bow tie, his tight pants and most painful of all, his _mediocre _paintings.

The night ended with your girlfriend making Blaine Anderson cry.

X

The painter opened the door with a smug grin.

He was ready to get the apology due to him.

"So you're here to apologize?"

"No." You and Santana said in unison and the painter's eyebrow couldn't have danced in a more confused way.

"We want you to tell your Mommy that _you _owe _us_ an apology, not the other way around." You muttered confidently.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard Britz," Santana cleared her throat, "we've got evidence that would prove that 80% of your paintings were made by someone not named Blaine Anderson." Santana smirked.

"H-How –"

"Lookie!" You waved pieces of papers at him and waited for the dude to recognize them.

He did and his eyes widened in horror.

"B-But –"

"But nothing." Santana cut him off. "You're a fraud, Blaine. You're not good, and you're a mean, irresponsible brat."

"And we hate you." You added with a smile.

Santana only nodded in agreement.

X

Pamela Anderson personally came to Sylvester's office the next day with flowers for you and the whole staff, coupled with two all-expense paid trip package to Bahamas for a week.

You popped a hip during an intense love-making with Santana, but you couldn't care less.

XXX

* * *

It was the fifth time that you caught Santana looking at the blonde across the conference table.

You breathed through your nose and bit the side of your cheek to stop yourself from screaming.

You didn't want to do it here.

In this room where your first meeting for Sylvester's final gubernatorial campaign was happening.

You were up in three minutes, about to present your initial media plan and you needed to be calm.

Your eyes landed on the blonde once more and you glared at her when she smiled at your girlfriend, followed by an annoying wink.

You were broken out of your trance when Sylvester laughed.

It was the first time you've actually heard your boss laugh in all the years that you've worked for her.

But that was not what bothered you the most.

Sylvester high-fived Santana – (you still haven't asked her why she was here; she told you she would be in Connecticut for a short consult) – before she tapped your girlfriend's back.

It was the weirdest three-second exchange you've witnessed in your whole life.

But before you could process the scenario, you were up. It was your turn.

Sylvester uncharacteristically stood up to close the lights in preparation for your presentation.

You were on the third slide when you realized that something was wrong.

You checked your work last night, then half an hour before you came here, and you were certain that everything was in order.

Yet now they weren't.

Instead, there was a photo of you as a baby, flashed on the screen for everyone to see.

You scrambled to check your laptop, but Santana was quick on her feet.

She started talking about how she wanted little Brittany's running around the new five-bedroom house that you two recently bought.

You gasped when she got down on one knee, a box on hand with an elegant diamond ring on display for you to see.

Santana asked you to marry her.

X

You said yes amidst the chorus of chants and yells.

X

You didn't miss the way your fiancée happily thanked the blonde woman for hacking into your password-protected presentation.

You guessed you could let the earlier leering go, yeah?

X

You got married a mere two months later, a week short of your fourth anniversary.

Your fathers walked you both down the aisle.

You cried when Alexander Lopez III hugged you tight.

You cried even harder when Santana sang her vows instead of reciting them.

She looked at no one else but you.

XXX

* * *

You caught your wife looking at another girl, but this time instead of feeling pissed and annoyed altogether, you felt like your heart would burst from so much happiness.

Alice Pierce-Lopez was so beautiful; even you couldn't help yourself from staring at her all the time.

Santana thanked you everyday for the last three months – for bringing your baby girl into this world.

Then she kissed you.

Over and over.

And over.

XXX

* * *

**All mistakes are mine. This story is complete, though I MIGHT be putting up one-shots/snippets of Brittana with baby Alice in the future.**

**Not anytime soon though since I would be finishing "I've Been Waiting" before that.**


End file.
